The Five Stages of Fixing Broken Wings
by Sandylee007
Summary: They thought that Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, was dead for six months. But now he's back home. And the recovery, mental and physical alike, has only just began. Will the support of friends and family heal his broken wings?        MISSING SCENES FROM MY STORY 'The Value of a Hawk's Life' (from SOS Hawkeye -collection) BUT ALSO STANDS ALONE                    FIVE SHOT        Claura
1. Denial

A/N: HERE WE GO, AT LAST! (BEAMS) Starting this took a bit longer than I expected. BUT, here we are!

SO, THIS IS A 'MISSING SCENES' TYPE OF A TALE BASED ON THE 'The Value of a Hawk' from my 'SOS Hawkeye' collections. BUT, I HOPE THAT THIS ALSO STANDS ALONE. LOTS AND LOTS of hurt and comfort ahead!

DISCLAIMER: MUAH-HAH HAA! Seriously?! Nope, I own absolutely NOTHING. If I did own ANYTHING that had ANYTHING to do with Jeremy Renner (aside a pile of DVDs) you'd hear me squealing from joy all the way across the world.

WARNINGS: Violence, VERY adult themes, lots of hurting, language (sorry Steve…!), Claura… Anyone out there…?

Awkay, before I change my mind… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

 ** _The Five Stages of Fixing Broken Wings_**

* * *

Denial

* * *

/ _Clint was on his way to the Farm to surprise Laura and the kids by coming back home early for once. The second he realized that a car was following him he knew that trouble was ahead. After fifteen minutes of intense chase the other vehicle forced him off the road. In the few minutes between the collision and darkness Clint had the time to realize that he wasn't going to make it home this time._

 _He woke up to face a scar-faced woman with long, dark hair and hazel eyes he'd later know as Emilia Snow. There was a smile on her lips but her eyes spoke the truth. "Morning, agent Barton", she greeted him with fake pleasantness. "Soon you're going to help me teach someone a valuable lesson. But first… Tell me everything you know about Project Eve."_

 _Clint had hard time disguising his surprise. It was the first project he worked on as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. The mission was to stage the deaths of a little girl and her parents, then help them start a safe new life in Paris. Why would this woman be interested in such an operation? Whatever her reasons were, Clint decided quickly that he wasn't about to compromise the now adult girl's safety. "Nothing", he announced as firmly as anyone with a concussion could and shrugged, the metal trapping his wrists rattling. He smiled sweetly. "Sorry. You got the wrong guy."_

 _Emilia shook her head, her smile becoming something truly sinister. "No, Little Bird. I don't think I did."_

 _That was where the beatings began. First Emilia, then her men. Until Clint was pretty sure that there wasn't a single unbruised spot on him. He had a feeling that as much as they clearly enjoyed tormenting him, they were also preparing his face for a show._

 _Hours later Emilia contacted Fury for the first time, allowed the director to see him via computer. As of that moment Clint knew that his time was running out, because there was no way she'd get what she demanded in exchange for his life. A few days later Emilia injected poison into his veins with Fury watching it all from a computer screen and Clint was forced to experience what dying felt like. Only, it wasn't the end. Because a few hours later his eyes flew open with a loud, desperate gasp. He became one of those unlucky people who got dragged to hell while they were still alive._ /

* * *

Six months. That was how long Clint Barton was imagined to be dead. Until he broke free from his very own hell, only to almost die for real when Emilia shot several bullets at him. It took about six more weeks until he was once more in New York. Another few days, and Clint ignored the strict orders of his friends and Tony's medical team to take his first solo walk.

It was the second independent decision he made since Emilia's men took him. The first one ended up getting him shot several times over. With this one he nearly collapsed five times before he finally reached his destination, panting painfully and his feet barely supporting his weigh. Once there he froze and swallowed thickly, his head spinning from more than physical pain and exhaustion.

It was a room at the Tower that'd been given to his use. His clothes, his very few items… Yet he stared at them like he was seeing them for the very first time.

It was stupid, he knew. And he couldn't really understand his own reactions. But after spending such a long time adjusting to the knowledge that he'd never see any of this again…

"I should've known that it was a bad idea to leave you unsupervised." Tony's words startled him to a point where he shuddered violently, then groaned at the agony radiating from his still healing injuries. "Shit, sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

Clint shook his head, trying to breathe through the pain. "Nah, my bad", he managed at last. "Deep in thought." He continued to gulp until he no longer felt like passing out or throwing up.

With the kind of courtesy many people wouldn't have known to expect of Tony the billionaire gave him some time. Didn't tease or pester, didn't even try to touch or comfort him. "Are you okay?" the man finally asked, once noticing that his breathing was evening out. "Because… No offense, Feathers, but you don't look okay."

Clint's jaw tightened while he continued to half-glare, half-stare at the room in front of him. Of course he was alright! Why wouldn't he be alright? He was back home, back where he belonged, with people he could trust. And he was alive. Wasn't he supposed to feel grateful for that? That he made it through… _all that_ alive? So why…?

Clint cut that thought sharply. "I'm fine", he announced. And managed to trick even himself into believing it. "Just… Need a breather."

Tony rolled his eyes. "There's a difference between needing a breather and being unable to make it back to the medical wing alone." The billionaire stepped closer slowly, obviously somehow sensing that he needed time to get used to the closeness. "C'mon, Pigeon. I know that you're a tough super-agent and all but let me help you, just this once. Humor me."

Clint didn't have a lot of options. He'd spent the following night uncomfortably right there on the floor, ask someone to fetch a wheelchair or accept Tony's offer. In the end he resulted to the least humiliating option and placed his arm behind the billionaire's shoulders. Mercifully not offering any witty remarks, Tony began to almost drag him along while Clint pretended that fatigue was what made him tremble and his eyes sting.

He was alive. He was just fine. All he needed was a little sleep. It was a mantra Clint repeated to himself until he collapsed halfway through the journey.

* * *

Clint woke up to the feel of someone's hands on him. In an instant he stiffened, a huge load of unpleasant memories flooding through him. Breathing became a nearly impossible challenge and if he'd been physically up to it he would've gotten up and ran. His eyes opened and darted around aimlessly for a while before discovering Natasha.

"Calm down, you idiot", she commanded, her gaze and hands on his… stomach area? What was she doing? "Congratulations, you succeeded in popping some stitches. I figured that you'd be more comfortable with me taking care of them."

Honestly, at the moment Clint didn't feel comfortable with the idea of anyone touching him. But Natasha was a lot more pleasant alternative than someone from Tony's medical team. So the archer nodded breathlessly, only just starting to register the pain.

Natasha continued to work a little longer. Although she clearly wasn't happy with him she was kind enough to be gentle. "You were trembling, even while unconscious", she announced. A statement and a question rolled into one. Her glare gave away her true emotions. "And you scared Tony."

Clint swallowed. There was a horrific taste in his mouth. "'m fine", he murmured. It was getting a little annoying how no one seemed to believe that he was okay. He was alive and recovering, wasn't he?

Natasha didn't seem impressed. "Yeah. I know all about how okay you are." She put away her equipment, then took a more comfortable position on her chair, clearly not having the slightest intention of leaving. Her hands weren't entirely steady while she began to work on a crossword puzzle. "Sleep." She looked like she could've used some rest, too. "I can't yell at you when you're looking like that. So sleep."

Clint's body seemed to be obeying. Even if Clint himself wasn't exactly ecstatic about the thought of falling asleep. He went under telling himself that he'd be just fine, that this time there'd be no nightmares haunting him.

* * *

The nightmares came, of course. Every single time, night after night, without a fail. Some of them more intense than others. And they didn't always stay a secret.

According to Lila's mommy her daddy wasn't well enough to travel all the way to the Farm yet so they'd have to stay at the Tower for a little while. She didn't mind, refused to protest anything that meant she got to keep the daddy she just got back. Of course she was homesick. Sometimes the big building scared her, and she was constantly worried that she'd get lost. But her daddy was there and soon they'd all go home. So it wasn't hard to keep smiling every day.

Children are good at looking past the bad, and even the worst.

In the middle of one night Lila was just getting herself a glass of water when she heard a scream. It was loud and wounded, reminded her far too much of the bad dreams she'd had since she thought her daddy died. Her eyes widened and the glass slipped from her fingers before she _ran_.

Her parents were wide awake when she barged in. Her daddy stood in the middle of the room, his face buried into his hands and breathing loudly. Her mommy sat on the edge of the bed with tears in her eyes, trembling. Lila couldn't understand any of it, which scared her even more. "Mommy? Daddy? What's wrong?"

Her mommy sighed. "It's okay, sweetie. Daddy just… He had a bad dream. But… It's over, now." She wiped her eyes so quickly that Lila almost missed it. "Let's get you back to bed, okay? I'll tuck you in."

Lila was tired. And now a little scared. But something about all this… She frowned, then made up her mind. She was too young to notice how both her parents tensed up when she rushed to her daddy and gave him a tight hug. She smiled when he eventually embraced her back, even if the hug didn't feel like those he gave her _before_. "Have better dreams, daddy", she whispered.

He kissed her hair lightly, almost cautiously. "I will after this. Now off to bed with you."

Lila believed him because she needed to. She held her mom's hand a little too tightly as she left the room and didn't glance back. If she had the look on her dad's face would've broken her heart.

* * *

When Fury came to Laura with the news that Clint had died… For a while she thought that the pain would kill her, too. Staying strong for the kids was the hardest thing she'd ever done. And when she learned that he was still alive, after all… The emotional turmoil was overwhelming. But she told herself that everything would be okay. How could everything not be alright when she'd gotten her husband back?

She was a nurse, once upon a time, and with that education she had no other choice but to notice just how much recovering Clint had to do. But she told herself that one day things would go back to how they were. And refused to see that a piece of the man she'd known never made it back home.

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Clint was preparing for his first proper trip to the outside world since his… return. Still trying to wake up, Laura yawned as she walked into a bathroom. And froze. Then chuckled, even if it was a little tensely. "Honey, what are you doing?"

Clint stood in front of a mirror, most of his face covered in shaving foam, staring at his reflection like he didn't quite recognize it. Some embarrassment could be seen in the reflection of his eyes when they met hers. "I, ah… My hands started acting up, a bit." He showed her the hand that was holding a razor. It was trembling badly.

When it came to certain things her husband was very, very old fashioned. Shaving was one of those things. Laura gave him a small smile although her heart ached from seeing him like this. "I bought you a perfectly good electronic device for that last Christmas, remember?" She walked closer and pried the sharp item gently from his unsteady fingers. "Let me help."

She shaved his stubble meticulously. During the process his trembling only intensified, and he didn't seem able to look away from the blade. By the time she reached the most delicate spots his breathing pattern began to change. Laura frowned at the pained and trapped, faraway look in his eyes. What was he seeing? Where was his mind? She didn't dare to ask. Wasn't sure she wanted to know. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." Tough words, coming from someone barely able to breathe. He seemed to notice as much. The playful grin that appeared didn't look entirely genuine. "You know… After this I'll need a shower. Wanna join me?"

It was their first intimate encounter since… Well. They were clumsy and greedy, like a pair of teenagers, and the shower water didn't make them any more graceful. Laura noticed none of that. Or how desperate Clint's lips and hands were while they explored her, as though fearing that she, or he, would disappear at any given second. And she closed her eyes from the new scars all over her husband's body, including those that'd been made by a razor blade. All she allowed her mind to wrap around was the feel of his heart beating under her hand. The water hid both their tears.

Clint didn't go outside that day.

* * *

Dr. Sarah Harris, who'd been the official psychiatrist of the Avengers for quite a while, entered her home after a very long day with a heavy sigh. Only to halt at the discovery that she wasn't alone. She knew only one person who wore the cologne she could easily smell. She turned her head and folded her arms upon seeing a shadowy figure in her living room. "Remember that good talk about personal boundaries we once had, Nicholas? It looks like we need to have it again."

"I fed your cat."

Apparently that was the only apology there'd be. Giving up a lost fight, Sarah sighed and headed towards the kitchen. "It's good to see you, though. After eight full months, and all." To be honest she'd been very worried about the director. Not that she would've admitted as much, especially after the man just broke into her apartment. "Tea?"

"No." 'Thank you', apparently, wasn't a part of her… unexpected visitor's vocabulary. Fury stepped closer, so that she could see his face. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look quite so exhausted. And… defeated. For some reason it looked like the director was still grieving. "I understood that Barton finally agreed to meet you today."

How, exactly, he knew that Sarah preferred not even guessing. She gave him a warning look. "You know perfectly well that those sessions are confidential, Nicholas. All I can tell you is that, as you already know, he's… struggling, and I'm doing everything under my power to help him. As are his friend." She tilted her head. "You'd find out far more of how he's doing if you actually went to see him."

Fury focused intently on staring out the window. His eyes were darker than usual. "It's been made perfectly clear that I'm not welcomed to the Tower."

Sarah rolled her eyes, even if she felt a massive pang of sympathy. "Such a thing as phones have been a thing for a while, now." The kettle boiled. In a few moments she took a sip of her own drink, then took a mug for his guest as well. She hummed with approval when he accepted it without complaint. "It's only human to be worried, Nicholas. Caring about someone isn't something to be ashamed of." She wasn't sure if she or anyone else would ever get Fury to believe that. But she'd try. She frowned, some sort of a sixth sense tingling. "But I have a feeling that you wouldn't break into my apartment just to ask how an Avenger's therapy session went. I think we should talk about you for a moment." The wall of borderline hostile silence slamming at her would've discouraged most people. She'd never feared challenge. She took a box of chocolates that'd been hidden to a nearby cabinet, safely out of her cat's reach. "Confetti?"

"Do you have any with raspberry filling?"

* * *

The frailty of illusions is that not even the best of them lasts forever.

It was a perfectly normal Friday evening. Cooper was doing schoolwork and Lila was drawing in their room. The adults were preparing dinner in the Tower's kitchen area. Everyone but Vision, who'd been banned permanently from all cooking items.

It looked like Steve might soon face the same faith.

The Captain frowned, watching with dismay how a yet another set of sauce became a charred mess. "I don't get what I'm doing wrong", the usually patient man grumbled with audible frustration. "I'm following every…"

Tony stepped forward and wrapped one arm around his friend's shoulders. "Steve, buddy… Preparing a milk based sauce is a work of art. Why don't you leave this to a professional and help Natasha with the salad?"

Natasha snorted and rolled her eyes, then exchanged amused looks with Laura. "Since when have you been any sort of a professional in kitchen, Stark? Pepper's told me that the last time she left you in charge of a dinner alone the fire department had to get involved."

"That traitor…", Tony muttered under his breath but didn't succeed in sounding very upset.

"Since I've been teaching him", Wanda revealed. Then winced upon looking at her student. "Tony, don't…!"

Something was definitely burning.

Everyone burst into a laughter, then resumed to normalcy. All but one, that is. Clint, who'd just put their dessert to the fridge, stared at the sight with dazed eyes, feeling dizzy.

It was so… normal, all of it. The banter. The genuine laughter. All those friends, almost like one big family, coming together. It was just like… A searing sensation took over his eyes while his chest tightened painfully.

It was so normal that he had no idea how to handle it, after having been disconnected from any sort of normal for over half a year.

Why couldn't he just…? Why wasn't he able to feel like he was supposed to? Why didn't any of _this_ feel normal to _him_ anymore? What was wrong with him?

"Clint?" Steve looked at him with a worried frown. "Are you okay?"

Clint's lips parted. And closed. Then opened again. "No", he managed with severe difficulty and blinked several times. Finally seeing. "I… I guess I'm not."

It was time to face the truth, to let go of the denial, so they'd be able to move forward.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: And so we begin…! GOSH, poor Clint and EVERYONE. It's gonna be a tough few steps. But we all know that eventually there'll be a happy ending. (smiles)

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? Do you wanna read more? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you guys.

In any case, thank you SO MUCH for reading! And whoever knows. Maybe I'll be seeing you again.

Take care!


	2. Anger

A/N: PHEW! It took a bit longer than I expected to finish up this chapter. But HERE WE ARE! Yay…?

Before getting started, though… THANK YOU, so, so much, for all your reviews, listings and love! I'm INSANELY happy that you've all joined this emotional roller coaster. (BEAMS, and HUGS) It's gonna hurt, but it'll get better eventually, I promise!

Awkay, because stalling is rude (Steve would agree)… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

ONE POSSIBLE THEME-SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER/STORY: 'Won't Let You Go' from Avril Lavigne

* * *

Anger

* * *

/ _After the first few weeks keeping track of time became impossible. And honestly, Clint wasn't sure he wanted to know how long had passed. How long everyone he cared about had thought that he was…_

 _Clint threw up, a severe concussion making him feel even worse than he did before._

 _At first his captors, Emilia being only one of many, came every time he was awake or conscious. Always with new ways to torment him. They kept asking him about Project Eve and the Avengers. He said nothing, not even a single word. Or then he was far too chatty, about all the wrong things. He found a tiny hint of satisfaction from the way his silence and occasional smirks infuriated those tormenting him. Until they had enough and one beating had him smash his head against the floor so hard that he wondered if he'd finally die for real._

 _He woke up alone. Still handcuffed to a chair someone had the decency to lift to an upright position, covered in… He preferred not knowing what all. And that was exactly how he remained for a period of time he had no clue of. No food. No water. No medical care. Eventually he was in a state where he wondered, with an eerie level of disinterest, if they'd simply forgotten him._

 _Clint kept drifting in and out of consciousness. Until one day the room's door screeched painfully loudly upon opening and let in a horribly agonizing, bright beam of light. It wasn't until the door closed once more he was able to distinguish Emilia._

 _She arched a delicate eyebrow. "So?" she inquired, taking a seat right in front of him. She tilted her head and sighed at the sight of him. "Such a pretty thing, reduced to such a mess because of that foolish loyalty… What a good, obedient dog Nicholas made out of you." She pursed her lips. "You're still not going to tell me what I want to hear, are you?"_

 _He mustered his best glare, trying to appear stronger than he felt._

 _Emilia smiled, tilting her head. "Oh, little songbird… Don't you understand that I enjoy it all the more this way?" she purred, then leaned to his ear as though trusting him with a big secret. "By the end of this you'll hate your pathetic life as much as I do mine. You'll beg me to end you."_

 _She whistled as her hand ghosted above a table on which several devices had been placed. A syringe, a gun, a knife and a small but without a doubt a painful hammer… In the end she smirked icily and looked into his eyes while making her choice._

 _Two minutes later Clint's howls of pain echoed into the hallway._ /

* * *

Clint woke up with a loud, desperate gasp, the nightmare interrupted right before the part that would've woken him up to his own scream. He panted, desperately trying to anchor himself to the reality while sweat dried on his skin, making him tremble from far more than cold. The scream… It was echoing inside his head…

Or no, not in his head. Not this time, although the worst and cruelest of all dreams had tormented him with this very sound countless of times. "DAD!"

"DADDY!"

His heart racing and mind reeling, Clint made sure that Laura was still fast asleep beside him, then left the bed as stealthily as his still healing injuries allowed. His slightly unsteady steps were tense and anxious when he made his way towards the room where his kids slept, dreading what he'd find. Entirely too many nightmares feeding him mercilessly with horror images.

What if…?

No. _She_ was dead, Natasha made sure of it. There was no way…

The first thing Clint saw when he entered the room were his daughter's terrified eyes. Lila was sitting on her bed, legs brought to her chest and having made herself appear as small as possible. "He… He started having a bad dream", Lila whispered, appearing unsure whether she'd done something wrong.

Clint wished he had the words to try and comfort her. But at the moment his older son was trashing and whimpering in his sleep, needing him desperately. The archer wondered, his heart aching in his chest, just how many nights had gone by like this while he was away.

He limped forward, knowing better than to try touching his son. "Cooper? Buddy, wake up", he beckoned, gently but firmly. He barely recognized his own voice. The violent dream continued, and the boy called out to him again, sending another dagger of ice through his heart. "I'm right here, Coop. Just wake up."

Wake up Cooper did, with such a holler of anguish and sorrow that Clint didn't think it'd ever stop haunting him. The boy's eyes flew open, instantly seeing him. But the child didn't seek comfort. Anger, hurt, betrayal, mistrust and grief were all loudly present before Cooper hid his gaze by turning towards the wall and curling up as tightly as humanly possible. Everything about the boy screamed 'DON'T TOUCH ME' far more loudly than any words ever could've.

Clint swallowed hard, the raw emotions floating in the air between and around them making him shiver. This was the first time he wasn't allowed to comfort one of his children. Another thing Emilia stole from him. "Coop…"

"I… I saw you die." Cooper wasn't screaming, but the tone was such that the child could've as well been howling at the top of his lungs. "And it… It hurt, dad! It still hurts, so much that sometimes…" The boy trailed off, hesitating. Then continued with whispered words that struck harder than a bullet. "Sometimes I hate you. Sometimes I'm so angry at you that…" Whatever was almost voice became swallowed back. Was that a sob? "I hate myself, too, because… I'm not supposed to feel… like that, dad. I don't wanna feel like that."

Clint's chest tightened painfully at realization. So, his son… That video recording where Emilia supposedly killed him… He'd heard that it was posted online. But never, ever did he know to fear that Cooper might've had to see it. His eyes filled with tears of rage and sorrow as he looked at his son who was far too young for any of this. He would've given almost anything if he could've held and comforted the boy like he did _before_ and wondered if he'd ever get to do so again.

"I know that it wasn't your fault." This time there was a clear sob as Cooper went on. "I… I get that, and I keep reminding myself every day, but…" The boy trailed off.

It took a few seconds before Clint found his voice. "I'm so sorry. What you…" He cleared his throat, trying to disguise how badly he would've wanted to cry, too. "What you went through… No child should ever have to experience it. And you should've never, ever had to see what you did." He took a deep, shuddering breath, unable to look at his children. "You have every right to be angry. As long as you know that every day… Every single one… I did anything I could to get back to you." On the worst days, so many of them, those waiting at home were the only thing keeping him going. He wiped his eyes before his kids would've seen the moisture finally beginning to fall. "You kids are the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'd do anything, absolutely anything at all, if I could take away that hurt you're going through right now."

Cooper said nothing. Gave no sign of having heard him. Exhausted, defeated and mad at the whole world, Clint hauled his horribly aching body off of the bed to leave.

That was when Cooper finally spoke. "Can you stay?" The boy swallowed loudly. "I… I'm still mad, but… Can you stay, until I fall asleep?"

It was something Cooper hadn't asked since the boy was five. If Clint had hard time keeping his own emotions in check before… "Yeah, buddy", he promised, sitting back down gingerly. "Of course I'll stay."

Cooper remained quiet, only relaxed in a manner that spoke more than words. It took a considerable amount of time. But eventually the boy's breathing slowed and evened out as peaceful slumber took over under his dad's watch.

Clint was so deep in thought and emotionally overwhelmed that he didn't notice movement until the bed dipped slightly, startling him. His heart was still racing several moments after he realized that it was Lila. He blinked with confusion, his eyes aching although tears had mostly dried, when the little girl curled up against him, as close as humanly possible. "Sweetie, what…?"

"I don't wanna talk right now, daddy", Lila whispered barely audibly, her face buried to the fabric of his shirt. "I'm tired."

Clint gulped hard, combing his daughter's hair with a gentle hand. "It's okay", he swore quietly. "We don't have to talk." It was beginning to dawn on him that he and Cooper weren't the only ones who'd had bad dreams that night.

That night was long and painful, and not only because he would've desperately needed pain medication. The kids finally slumbered peacefully. Clint himself couldn't find any sleep.

* * *

It was like observing a ticking time-bomb.

Natasha had known Clint for so long time that most of the time she could read him like an open book. She knew how much he hated being benched, unwell, vulnerable, not in control over himself. Especially when his head was full and busy with… unpleasant things.

Post-Loki nearly destroyed him, and this was something much worse.

With dread she would've never admitted to having experienced Natasha waited for the bomb to drop. Waited for when it'd all become too much. For when he'd overcome the first shock and anger would set in.

She began to smell trouble when she came back from a mission to find the Tower uncomfortably quiet. The bad feeling grew when a weary faced and visibly annoyed doctor announced that _the patient_ had defied her instructions and headed to a training room. "I wouldn't advice going after him", the medical professional cautioned her.

Natasha saw red. "I think I can handle my best friend", she announced with as much venom as she could muster. "I wouldn't advice you to come back and attempt to treat him before you've learned how to handle patients." In full honesty she knew how difficult of a patient the Hawk could be and that the doctor had probably done everything she could. But despite having just handled a lot of enemies the Widow still needed someone to be furious at and a stranger was a convenient target.

She wished, more than anything, that Fury hadn't made her kill Emilia fairly painlessly and quickly.

Considering his condition, the destruction Clint had caused on the training room was remarkable. A completely trashed punching bag, a weight having been tossed at a wall with enough force to leave a small hole, a broken mirror…

But sadly, it seemed that the archer had done the most damage on himself. Because at the moment the man was slumped on the floor, barely managing to sit up while panting heavily and wincing with every new breath. The man was horribly pale and Natasha was once again reminded of all the things her idiot of a friend might've messed up from his still ailing body.

"Not now." Clint's voice was somehow incredibly weak and sharper than a knife at the same time. Immense, crushing sadness and fire-hot raged rolled into one. The man refused to meet her gaze. "I'm an idiot, I get that. You can…" He winced and brought a hand on his stomach, agony furrowing his eyebrows. "… yell at me later. Right now I just… I really, really need you to leave."

Natasha stared at him, unfazed by his hostility. "No, you don't. You need someone to yell at." She took a seat a respectful distance away from him, knowing that as much as he needed company he also needed some space. "You gonna tell me why?"

Still not looking her way, humiliation joining other emotions, Clint lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal a small, brown bag fasted on his stomach. She'd known that he had a stoma but actually seeing it… "The doc just told me that unless someone pulls off a miracle _this_ …" The last word was spoken in a voice that would've made most shudder. "… will be with me for the rest of my goddamned life. Because apparently a gigantic hole on my side can be fixed but intestines that have been messed up by bullets…" The Hawk trailed off, the painful anger becoming too much.

Natasha stared straight ahead, furiously trying to make some sense of it all. In the end it all culminated to a single word. "Fuck."

"Yeah." Clint took several unsteady breaths, rubbing his face roughly with both hands. "Language."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Great. Another language police in this team."

Clint tensed up visibly. It took a few moments before he voiced what was going through his mind. "I'm not much of a member of the team like this, am I?" His breathing wheezed and he lifted his chin so that he could stare at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. "I hate this, Tasha. I want my life back. I want myself back."

Natasha wasn't very good at comforting people. Someone with her history couldn't be expected to be. And she most definitely wasn't very good at handling emotions, her own or those of others. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She took a knife and threw it at a wall with as much force as she could. Then handed another weapon to Clint. Without asking a thing or considering he also threw and watched with a spark of satisfaction in his eyes how it got stuck on the wall.

"Feel any better?" she inquired.

"Yeah." He winced, this time not from pain, as he looked around the room. "Tony's gonna kill us."

She quirked an eyebrow. "'Us'? You're the one who practically demolished this place." She then shrugged, focusing on the knives of the wall. "It was worth it."

It was worth it if it brought that smile to Clint's lips, tiny as it was.

* * *

Hours later Clint was finally fast asleep, aided by medication that he hadn't actually wanted. There was a deep frown on his face, a clear indication that tonight would be full of nightmares. Every now and then mumbled, incoherent words of distress escaped his lips.

And there was nothing Laura could do about it.

She was tired, frustrated, sad and angry. So it definitely wasn't the ideal time for her phone to start buzzing and Nick Fury's name to appear on the screen. She gritted her teeth and gathered herself before picking up. "Yeah?"

" _How is he?_ " Only a careful ear caught the true emotions hiding behind his tone. Some other day Laura might've felt sympathy for him.

But now, looking at her husband… "Today…" She cleared her throat. "Today wasn't a good day. I think it might be a good idea to call again tomorrow."

Fury sighed heavily. " _Laura… I'm…_ "

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't want your apologies. My husband… He was dead for six months." Some tears rolled down her cheeks but she ignored them. "Coop, he… He saw the clip of _it_ , did you know? So did I, had to so I'd understand why he has nightmares almost every night and why he barely talks anymore. And Clint, he…" She gulped convulsively but the horrific taste didn't go anywhere. "Like I said, I don't need your apologies. I just… I need to know why." What was worth more than her husband's life?

" _You know that I'd tell you if I could._ "

Did she? Really? Maybe she would, tomorrow. Right now all she could do was hang up.

Laura kissed her husband's brow, feeling a jab of ache when it did nothing to ease his discomfort. Then she spent an hour in one of the training rooms until she felt ready to pick up her phone again, her fists aching from torment she just put them through. "Dr. Harris? I, ah… I think I may need that session, after all."

* * *

It was one of those days when Clint's stomach didn't seem able to handle anything. He threw up all of the ten things he attempted to consume and was left with the worst abdominal pain he'd ever experienced. Or well, at least it didn't beat the first weeks after getting shot…

When he finally felt ready to emerge from the bathroom Tony was at the kitchen area. The billionaire made a face at the sight of him. "No offense, but you look like a 'Walking Dead' extra."

Clint groaned. He contemplated sitting down before deciding against it. "In that case I look better than I feel."

Tony glanced at him. Then nodded, clearly coming to a conclusion. "C'mon. You look too angry to be left alone with my kitchen."

Clint raised a suspicious eyebrow. But in the end chose to follow his friend's lead. "Where are we going?"

"I'm not gonna even ask if you're allowed to lift heavy stuff yet because I know that you've already been doing it. Just…" Tony winced, appearing genuinely concerned. "Don't tell Laura or Dr. Harris about this. Or Pepper. They'd kill me."

Clint expected a lot of things. What he hadn't known to expect was a room at one of the Tower's quiet parts that definitely needed some remodeling. There were two small sledgehammers sitting in the middle of it.

Tony shrugged at his confusion. "You want to smash something. Go for it. Because… Those pink walls have got to go."

Clint smirked. "Pink… walls? Really, Tin Can? Didn't imagine you to be the pink type."

"I pissed off some of the builders." Tony glared at him but it didn't come out even remotely threatening. "Another word, Feathers, and I'll use the sledgehammer on your thick skull."

Clint ignored the threat, instead took the sledgehammer and felt it. He was pleased to discover that he could handle the weight without feeling like he'd been torn to pieces. "Where did you get this idea from, anyway?"

"There… was a time when I felt like smashing something." Tony shrugged. "I figured you might feel that way right about now." The man took his own weapon, then pressed a button. Immediately AC/DC was blasting through the stereos. "Now are we done with the chick flick moment so we can get to work?"

Forty minutes later they sat on the floor, panting heavily. Aching and exhausted. And somehow feeling lighter than they had in ages.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Tony rolled his shoulders and after a moment there was a 'pop'. "Maybe now I'll stop finding knives from my walls. It looks cool and all, but also a bit creepy."

"I'm…"

"Say that you're sorry and I'll pluck your feathery behind."

"Try and you'll find an arrow from yours, Metal Head."

"That was weak, Robin Hood."

They both knew that there was a lot of healing to be done. And that Clint wouldn't be exactly the same again. But for a few stolen moments the archer could breathe easily once more.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Three more chapters to go, so we know that the 'hurt' isn't quite over yet… BUT, thank gosh Clint's got such an army of people looking after him! Even if everyone's hurting so very much. (winces)

Soooo… Was that any good? At all? PLEASE, do let me know! Hearing from you guys ALWAYS makes my day.

IN THE NEXT ONE Steve and Wanda will be more heavily present.

Until next time! I really hope that you'll all stay tuned for 'Bargaining'.

Take care, of yourselves and all the Clint Bartons of the world (because they're rare breed)!


	3. Bargaining

A/N: GAH! I was SUPPOSED TO update earlier. But I've been traveling, which means that I haven't exactly had my usual typing time. (winces apologetically) BUT, here I am, AT LAST! Yay…?

THANK YOU, so very much, for your amazing reviews, listings and support! It warms my heart how many of you have found this emotional little tale. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I doubt you would've come here for my ramblings… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

VIOLENT FLASHBACKS AND MENTAL IMAGES AHOY!

TO AVOID CONFUSION:

/ _flashback_ /

/ thought inside a flashback /

/ 'memory of a thought' /

/ _mental image_ /

* * *

Bargaining

* * *

/ _Once again Clint lost the track of time. It was most likely better and more merciful that way. The beatings continued. And he kept refusing to offer his captor's anything. Through endless rounds of beatings, torture and interrogation he continued to hang on. Kept telling himself that it'd all be over soon. Waited patiently for a chance. And then, at last, it came._

 _On one dark, endlessly long night two guards clearly imagined that he was still unconscious from the particularly brutal handling he'd been given a couple of hours earlier. Clint listened to them approaching and moving around him, not bothering to pay attention to their words. And when they were just close enough he moved._

 _The first hostile was down before the man had the slightest chance to see it coming. With all the adrenaline coursing through his veins handling the second one wasn't much of a challenge. A swift kick, during which he sternly ignored how much his leg hurt. Then a second, aimed right at the fallen man's head. After grabbing his enemies' guns Clint was moving, slowly and limping heavily but still, keeping a constant eye on security cameras._

 _Having tackled down three, or was it four, new enemies Clint was already at the backdoor. Just a single door and a step away from freedom. Which was when Emilia's voice came through a speaker. "_ Do leave, if you please. Clearly you're not about to give me what I want and now that everyone imagines you to be dead you're fairly useless. Just, something to chew on before you walk through that door… _" Something about her tone chilled him all the way to his spine. "_ I have five men approaching this lovely little farm. And if I don't call them at a certain time, they have instructions to slaughter everyone inside. Do you really imagine that you might get there before them? Whether you want to give it a try is entirely up to you. I believe in free will. _"_

 _Clint's heart stilled for a few valuable seconds and his blood ran cold. While his body was frozen his mind reeled, fed him with sickening horror images. Of Laura and the kids, of their blood…_

 _His hand, already on the door handle, fell to his side and his fists balled so tightly that it hurt._

 _"_ That's a good boy _", Emilia purred. "_ Now go back to your holding room before I lose my patience with your antics. I'll come and punish you for this later. _"_

 _Only the fact that Emilia was watching through the cameras kept Clint from screaming at the top of his lungs while tears of rage, sorrow and frustration filled his eyes._

Just keep breathing and don't scream _, he told himself firmly._ Just breathe and you'll be fine. Just breathe. Don't scream.

 _He continued repeating that mantra in his mind when Emilia eventually delivered her punishment. And while he lay on the floor, broken and bleeding. Unable to crawl to the lousy excuse of a bed he'd been given._

Just breathe. Don't scream. Just breathe. Don't scream. This'll all be over soon, if you just breathe. This is just a bad day. You've had it worse. Don't scream. This'll be over soon.

 _It wasn't over for another four and a half months._ /

* * *

It was only four in the morning but with the dream Wanda just had she wasn't going to get any more sleep. So instead of tossing and turning in her bed she headed towards one of the Tower's training rooms. Her steps halted by the doorway when she realized that she wasn't alone.

Close to the room's ceiling was a hammock, and Clint was sleeping inside it.

"A rough night, then." Tony's voice startled her although he was almost whispering. The billionaire had an uncharacteristically solemn expression on his face. "He always goes to sleep there when he has a rough night."

Wanda felt a stab of worry and sympathy. She had a feeling she could guess what 'rough night' meant, and hated the idea of Clint having to endure those on top of everything else. "How did he get there?"

Tony shrugged. "Don't ask me. I'll bet that the guy's worked at a circus at some point."

That mental image felt oddly right. Wanda came close to smiling until she sighed, looking towards the hammock again. There was no movement, and right after her brother the archer was the lightest sleeper she'd ever met. Her stomach constricted at the discovery. "I should…"

"Trust me, don't." Tony's tone left no room for objections. "I've… made the mistake of trying to wake that guy up once. Just… Don't."

Wanda frowned, frustration and worry transforming to anger. "Then what? We can't just leave him there!"

"There's a flawless system looking out for everyone in this building, remember? And lots of security cameras. If he as much as breathes funnily we'll know. He's safe here." Tony's voice announced that the billionaire would make sure the Hawk stayed that way. "Now let's go. I don't wanna see how he'd react to waking up to us staring at him."

* * *

What the two didn't know was that Clint was, in fact, wide awake. He wasn't aware of their presence, though. He lay perfectly still, vacant eyes darted towards the ceiling and all his concentration on the up and down motions of his chest.

 _Just keep breathing. This is a bad day, that's all. Just breathe and everything will be okay._

* * *

Later that week Steve was about to take his usual morning jog when he discovered that he wasn't the only one with that plan. Clint stood by the Tower's main entrance, his face oddly pale and teeth gritted hard. The soldier frowned, uncertain how to proceed. "Barton? You… heading outside, too?" He worked his hardest to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. Although it was.

Because if this would succeed… It'd mark the first time Clint stepped outside the Tower since… Well.

"Yeah." Clint did his best to grin, and it almost reached the Hawk's eyes. "I… I think I need a good run. Today…" The archer scratched his head. A new nervous habit. "… isn't a very good day."

Steve knew that by now Clint had a lot of very good days, when it was almost like the archer had recovered fully. And then… there were the other kind. It saddened the soldier, but didn't discourage him. Bad days were only that, bad days. They got their friend back from the dead. They'd be able to handle a bad day. And they would. As a team, as friends.

Steve nodded resolutely. "Okay, then", he announced, walking through the door. And held his breath without noticing it until Clint followed. "Let's go." _Let's get away from here. Let's run away from all this. Just for a while._

Clint nodded overly enthusiastically, as though agreeing to his unvoiced words. "Just have mercy on me, Cap. I haven't been exactly working out lately."

"Try to keep up, Feathers", Steve ordered mercilessly, taking the first running steps.

"Not you, too…!" Clint groaned.

They'd get through this. Of course they would. After these first steps forward it'd get easier. This bad day would pass.

* * *

Clint's act was so flawless that for days even Laura bought it.

He smiled. Spent time with the kids – played with Lila, changed Nate's diapers and goofed around with the baby, helped Cooper with schoolwork. His technique worked on the kids like magic. As time went by they began to relax, accept that him being back with them was their new reality. Some of especially Cooper's nightmares would probably never fade away but according to the kids' therapist they were making slow yet steady progress.

Laura almost relaxed as well, until she began to see. All the little things. Such that only the trained eye of someone in love could catch.

How some of the smiles didn't reach Clint's eyes.

Those haunted looks, like the man's mind was traveling in some horribly dark places while he watched over his family like a Hawk.

How far too often he seemed terrified of touching her.

How completely and utterly exhausted he seemed whenever he imagined that no one was looking, the constant act for the sake of others draining him.

Several times she wanted to scream at him to _stop_. To quit pretending, to drop that mask, around her at least. Because he was moving forward, getting better. But not like this, not this quickly. Yet she knew her husband. If this was the way he'd decided to handle this part of his recovery there was nothing she could do.

Nothing but wait, watch and brace herself for the inevitable downfall when he'd stumble to the next stage.

* * *

When Clint excused himself from a dinner table fairly quickly a few days later, Wanda didn't think much of it. One of the first things she learned about the archer was that the man wasn't a big eater when he was stressed out. She began to worry when she heard the sounds of someone vomiting upon passing by one of the Tower's many bathrooms.

She frowned, worry twisting and turning in the pit of her stomach. "Clint? You okay in there?"

When he offered no reply she made her decision and opened the door. He was sitting on the floor, breathing heavily. Embarrassment took over his face the second he saw her. "Sorry. This…" He cleared his throat. "You should…"

Wanda shook her head. "No, I don't think I should." She made sure that no one else had noticed them, then closed the door to give them some privacy. "What happened?"

Clint sighed heavily and rubbed his face with both hands. "Just… The meat." He swallowed convulsively, and shuddered from relief when the nausea subsided. "Looks like I'm not… good at handling that anymore."

"Is it the…?" Wanda began and gestured towards the stoma, knowing the unwritten rule that it wasn't to be mentioned out loud.

Clint shook his head. And the embarrassment from before turned into complete, utter humiliation. "Just… A while ago I… remembered something. Since then…" He shook his head again, against the memory and as a protest alike. "Haven't liked meat much."

It was Wanda's turn to sigh heavily. After thinking about it for a while she sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. He shivered but didn't pull away, which encouraged her to speaking. "You should've told us", she scolded him gently. "We would've helped you."

Clint smiled, and for once it seemed genuine. "I know, and… That's why I didn't feel like telling anyone. You've already had to help me too much, all of you." His jawline tightened. "The kids… They need a strong dad, someone who can help them, because they've been through a massive trauma. Laura needs a husband who can _be_ _there_ for her. And you guys…" He inhaled and exhaled. "You guys need a teammate who can handle missions without freaking out."

Wanda felt like they were getting closer to the actual root of the problem. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Of course we need a friend who is well. But Clint… You need to actually feel better, you need to give yourself the time to recover."

"I am giving myself time", Clint insisted with a comfortingly familiar amount of stubbornness. "I'm _trying_ , Wanda. And while I am… I'll keep showing the world that I'm okay."

"Because the more you keep telling yourself and others that you're okay, the sooner you will be?"

"That's the plan."

Wanda leaned her head against his shoulder. "You do know that that isn't how it works, don't you?" When a tiny shrug was his only response, she came to the conclusion that the matter was closed. "That memory… Why do you think it came back to you now?" She was itching to ask what it was about but knew that it would've definitely made him shut down. She was already pushing it.

Clint tensed up, and for a while she was sure that he'd go to a total lockdown. Until he sighed and shrugged. "According to Dr. Harris I've recovered to a point where… whatever it was blocking that memory broke." His fingers tightened around hers for a couple of seconds. "Hear that? Even a shrink thinks that I'm recovering. So stop looking so worried."

She smiled. "I'll always worry about you, idiot." She punched his shoulder gently, affectionately, with her fist. "I meant what I said, you know? This… whatever we are needs you. I'm glad you're back, old man."

"And I'm glad to be back, kid." Clint sighed, but this time it was lighter, easier. "Let's get out of here, yeah? It's sort of creepy that we're hanging out in a toilet. And this place stinks."

* * *

The next couple of days… Those were the good kind of days, even Lila could sense as much. Her daddy smiled more. Hugged her like he did _before_.

And she smiled, too. Talked about everything she could think of. Learned how not to scream if she had a bad dream. Did her best to avoid making him sad or… thoughtful. Anything and everything, to keep her daddy, now that she really, truly had him back.

But she was only a little girl and eventually, inevitably, her act cracked and she hurt him.

Lila had been told, several times over, not to run indoors. But she really, really wanted to show her daddy her new drawing and couldn't hold herself back. "Daddy, look…!" She'd already almost reached him when her balance broke.

Lila slipped, and on her way down her head hit the sharp corner of a table. The contact wasn't harsh and the wound was just a tiny scratch, but the startle got to her. And before she could stop herself she was sobbing, loudly.

"Oh, no…! Oh, my poor girl…! Come here, sweetie, let me have a look."

Lila obeyed. Of course she did, because she wanted her daddy's comfort more than anything. Only, what she saw when she was closer, shielded by one of those safe arms…

Her daddy's eyes when he looked at her wound… He stared at it like it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. That scared her, too. Because her daddy was never, ever afraid of anything. "Daddy?" she whispered, the last of her tears drying. "What's wrong?"

And then it was gone, whatever it was. So quickly that she was left wondering if she was being silly and imagining things. He kissed the top of her head just a little longer than he usually did. "Stop worrying, sweetie. I'm okay." At least his voice sounded right. Almost. "Now let's find you a bandaid."

"Can I have one of those princess ones?"

"Would I dare to suggest anything else?"

* * *

Much later that evening, while everyone else was busy and at a safe distance, Clint made his way to a shower. He ensured that the water was as hot as he could stand, then stepped in. Like a shower would've been able to burn out the scars and nauseating signs of injuries, inside and out. He lifted his chin, letting the flood wash over him. Letting it burn. And without being invited the memories came. Memories and mental images. Nightmarish flashes, created during weeks upon weeks of isolation and abuse, rammed into his head until his brain couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't.

* * *

/ _Emilia leaned closer to him. Her eyes gleamed chillingly in the room's dim light. "If you ever try to walk away from me again, Little Bird… I will send my men to your family. And they'll be torn to pieces."_ /

* * *

/ _The Farm's door opening, the deafening, sickening silence inside._ /

/ 'Don't scream. This'll all be over soon, if you just breathe.' /

/ _The unnaturally loud sounds of his steps as he entered, his breath catching in his throat keeping him from calling out, crying out._ /

* * *

/ _Emilia smiled. "First sweet little Nathaniel… Then Lila, such a beautiful thing… And finally, when he's listened to his siblings' final screams… It'll be Cooper's turn."_ /

* * *

Trembling violently, Clint turned the water just a little warmer and shuddered when it left his skin red and achy. The new discomfort wasn't enough to distract him. Wasn't enough to cut the torrent of other kind.

* * *

/ _Emilia whispered to his ear. Stroked his hair as she did. "And finally, at last, it'll be Laura's turn. She'll scream, oh how she'll scream. She'll beg for the lives of her children, won't she? She'll beg and beg, and then she'll curse those who took her babies away, until her last breath."_ /

* * *

/ 'Don't scream. Just breathe.' /

/ _The unmistakable, far too familiar stench of blood and decaying flesh slapped him across the face. Froze him for an unidentifiable amount of time. If he'd hold still, if he wouldn't take those few more steps and see, then maybe it wouldn't all be real._ /

* * *

Clint's chest tightened and he gasped desperately, but all the air in the whole world wouldn't have been enough to reach his aching, burning lungs. Warm tears mixed with far hotter shower water while he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Slammed his fist against the wall, over and over and over again. Anything, anything, _anything_ …!

If it'd hurt enough, then maybe he'd know what was real. Believe where he was. Remember who he was.

This time he'd do the cognitive recalibration himself. And when he was done he'd be able to breathe. He'd be the person he needed to be. The person he _had to be_ , for the sake of his friends and family.

He wasn't broken beyond repair, wasn't just damaged goods. He'd prove it. To himself, to Emilia, to everyone. He wasn't…!

But his mind wasn't about to show him mercy.

* * *

/ _In the end his body took the lead, dragged him forward until there was no choice left. Until he had to see. Until he had to face it._

 _There, in a sea of red that'd turned to a stomach-turning color over time, was his whole family, his whole wide world._

 _Clint stared. And stared. And stared._

 _And then he…_ /

/ 'Don't scream.' /

* * *

/ _Emilia smirked at Clint, knowing that she had his mind exactly where she wanted it to be. Her flawless, white teeth shone in the dark. "Laura will be butchered into the blood of her children. Almost poetic, isn't it?"_ /

* * *

Feeling like he was suffocating and torn to pieces, Clint slid to the floor, his back leaning against the wall. He gritted his teeth together so hard that his whole chin hurt and slammed both hands to the sides of his head. Pulled at his drenched hair.

/ 'Don't…' /

And he screamed, not even realizing that he was doing so out loud.

That was how Laura found him ten minutes later, the Tower's system having alerted the rest of them that something was _wrong_. By the time she dashed into the room he was still howling, although he'd ran out of voice to do so with. He screamed and screamed, in the grips of something she couldn't even begin to imagine. And it terrified her, because no matter how tightly she held on to him under the nearly burning hot water it felt like he was slipping further and further away.

* * *

/ _"If you ever do something that stupid again, Clint… I will destroy everything you hold dear in this world. The Avengers. Your family." Emilia patted his head. "You won't be walking out of this alive. But if you're an obedient little pet… Maybe they will."_ /

* * *

/ '… scream.' /

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: GOSH…! Emilia… wasn't exactly a pleasant person, now was she? (winces) GOSH, poor Clint – and the whole team! Such a horror story this has been, on all of them. BUT, Clint IS recovering, even when it doesn't necessarily seem like it. Let's just hope that this, too, shall pass…!

SO… Thoughts? Comments? How scared are you of 'Depression'? I'd REALLY love to hear from you!

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that I'll see you there.

Take care!


	4. Depression

A/N: Phew! It took longer than I expected to finish this. DAYS longer. BUT, here we are, folks! (BEAMS) Yay…?

THANK YOU, a million times over, for your AMAZING reviews, love and support! It's been a REALLY emotional ride and it means a lot that you're all taking it with me. (HUGS)

Awkay, before I get all mushy… Let's go! Feels ahoy!

* * *

Depression

* * *

/ _Endless days passed by. Emilia and her men stopped trying to ask questions entirely. But the physical and often also emotional torment didn't stop. Clint asked 'why' only once. It slipped from his tongue before he could stop himself._

 _Emilia looked at him with an entirely too satisfied smirk and patted his cheek almost gently. "Why?" She leaned closer and kissed the cheek she just patted. He wasn't coherent enough to shiver at the contact, even if it sickened him. "Because, Little Bird… When I finally toss you back to Fury like a piece of garbage… I want you to be completely… and utterly… destroyed. I want him to see what he brought upon you." She leaned closer, crowding his personal space. For however long he might live, he wouldn't forget the scent of her perfume. "There are so many ways to destroy a person." She nodded, still smiling. "I know. I've experienced them all."_

 _In the long, excruciating hours which followed Clint went through things he'd never, ever be able to speak of out loud if he'd somehow survive this. He didn't scream or whimper, and he most definitely didn't beg for mercy. He clung to life with the stubbornness that was given to him when he was born. This time more out of habit than actual will to live._

 _He attempted to cling to the memory of Lila's laughter, which was what kept him sane in the beginning. He fought to memorize the look of concentration in Cooper's eyes when he taught his son archery with toy arrows. He struggled to remember how Laura tasted when they kissed._

 _But none of that came to him. His head filled with horrific mental images of blood and death, over and over again. Those flashes were all that kept him company when Emilia was finally done and simply left him there, unable to even get up._

 _Still Clint didn't scream. Didn't fight when all it would bring was misery. He just lay there, staring at the wall with unseeing eyes, and a tiny part of him wondered if this was what death felt like._ /

* * *

When there wasn't a trace of Clint or Laura in half an hour after she went to check up on him the team began to get really, honestly worried. With Wanda and Natasha, the two of them the little Bartons trusted the most, ensuring that the kids were entertained enough to not suspect anything Steve and Tony went to check up on the couple. So yeah, maybe they were concerned. But could anyone blame them when they'd already lost Clint once?

What they found… was something neither of them would've known to expect.

Clint and Laura were both drenched wet as she led him from their room's bathroom towards the bed. He followed like a zombie, one step at a time, unresponsive to her softly murmured words. It was like wasn't even really there. By the time the two finally reached the bed Clint pulled his wife into his arms and just held on tight, a heartbreaking look of utter despair on his face. Helpless to do anything else Laura helped back and continued whispering, even if it seemed that the archer's mind was somewhere far away.

Steve swallowed convulsively. The Captain was quick to leave before anyone got the chance to see just how much the sight hurt him. "I'll call Dr. Harris", he muttered. It was a move Clint would've usually hated. But their friend… didn't really seem like Clint at the moment.

In the end Tony stepped forward, the instinctive need to _do something_ pulsating through him. He couldn't look away from the archer's glazed over eyes, no matter how much he wanted to. "What happened?"

Laura swallowed thickly and shook her head. She'd been holding it together astonishingly well through the whole ordeal but at the moment she seemed absolutely terrified. "I… I don't know." She shook her head again, visibly frustrated and furious at her own helplessness. "I found him from the bathroom like this. He probably had a flashback." She took a deep, shuddering breath, futilely trying to calm herself. "His heart… It's racing."

Tony shivered. His mind was galloping, trying to come up with something, anything… "We need to get him to calm down." He took a step closer before changing his mind quickly. If Clint was still in the grips of a flashback the man wouldn't appreciate someone crowding his private space unexpectedly. He shifted with discomfort, so frustrated that he wanted to _scream_.

Laura's jawline tightened while her husband held on to her so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. "I don't think he really knows that we're here, Tony." She tried petting Clint's wet curls comfortingly but it only made the Hawk's tremors intensify. Tears filled the woman's eyes but she blinked them away quickly. "Honey, it's okay. You're safe, we're all safe. Do you hear me? You're safe."

Clint remained unresponsive.

Tony's shoulders slumped. A massive lump formed in his throat. "I thought that he was getting better." He was entirely too aware of how much he sounded like a child.

"He has been." Laura sighed. "But you know how he is. He's been pushing himself, for our sakes. Too hard."

Tony groaned. Trying not to pull his hair out with frustration while a searing sensation took over his eyes. _Goddamnit, Barton…!_ "And here we are."

"And here we are."

"… 'm fine." Clint's voice, feeble as it was, succeeded in startling them. There was a pale hint of awareness in the man's still glassy, haunted eyes. He didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular. His hold on his wife was still steel hard, desperate. That of a drowning man. "Just… need a sec."

"Barton, listen to me." Laura took her husband's face between both hands. Working her hardest to appear strong. She didn't really seem to catch his eyes. "You need more than a second. And it's perfectly alright. Understood?" It was impossible to tell if she was aware of the tears in her eyes. "No more rushing and pushing yourself, for anyone's sake."

Clint stared at her as though he was actually seeing her for the first time, or like he was only just beginning to believe that she was truly there. His eyelids began to droop heavily. And that was the only warning they got. So quickly that Tony had no hope of reacting fast enough Clint's eyes rolled, then closed. The man slumped in Laura's arms so heavily that it was a miracle both of them didn't tumble to the floor. While panic shot through Tony like a brutal bolt of electricity Laura operated quickly, using her legs to shift herself and her husband so that they were safely and comfortably on the bed. She attempted to gently coax him into laying down comfortably but he was having none of it, even while passed out clinging to her desperately.

It took several moments before shock and panic eased enough to allow Tony to speak. "What… What _the hell_ was that?" he squeaked in a voice that would've been embarrassing under different circumstances. "Is he… Is he okay?"

Laura sighed, and it shuddered while the emotions she'd struggled to hold back threatened to take over. She blinked rapidly against the moisture shining in her eyes. "That… was Clint's mind and body announcing that they've had enough." Seeing his wide-open terror, she did her best to smile. "He just exhausted himself. He'll wake up in a few hours with a headache."

Tony winced. A few things clicked together in his head. "Sounds like you've been through this before."

Laura nodded grimly, focusing on her husband to avoid looking at him. It took a mighty while before she decided to speak up. "It's…" She was cut off when Clint shivered particularly violently and emitted a quiet, strangled sound of distress before slipping more firmly out of awareness. "It's never been… this bad before, though. Not even after…" She gritted her teeth hard before voicing the name. "… Loki." It was apparent how exhausted, anxious and helpless she felt. She spent six months in the reality that she'd never, ever get her husband back. And now… _this_.

There were no magic tricks or words that would've taken away her strain. Still Tony offered the best optimistic grin he could muster. "Feathers is a tough bird. He's gonna be okay." His smile faltered, badly. "I just… I wish I knew how far from 'okay' he was. How am I supposed to help him if he doesn't share when he needs help?" It sounded childish and pathetic even to his own ears. And by now he knew Clint well enough to realize that it was a stupid question. He didn't care.

Laura smiled. Really, honestly smiled, even if it was a slightly sad one. Somehow it made them both feel just a little bit better. "That's what I've been asking myself since the day I met this idiot."

* * *

Pepper had been on a long business trip. She hated leaving when everything was still such a mess but what other choice did she have? She took off with a promise to be back as soon as she could and a demand that Tony would call her if things… got out of hand.

Yet somehow she still came back to find the Tower eerily quiet and Tony from the kitchen area, glaring at an open but otherwise untouched bottle of Whisky with moist eyes.

Pepper gulped, a cold hand squeezing around her stomach. "Tony? What's wrong?"

Tony swallowed convulsively, like someone attempting to hold back a vomit. "I… I thought that I was helping him. I thought…" The billionaire shook his head, as though trying to clear it, and rubbed his eyes with a fist. He opened his mouth a couple of times but nothing came out.

Pepper took a deep breath. Desperately trying to will any of _this_ into making sense. "A rough patch?" A solid enough assumption. The cold fist enough her stomach continued to tighten.

Tony nodded grimly, glaring at the bottle with darkened eyes. "Yeah, a rough patch", he spat out. "Barton crashed." It was always 'Barton' when the billionaire felt a little too much for comfort. It was 'Barton' for the first five and a half months, since…

Pepper shivered. And here she'd been hoping that perhaps things had changed for the better… "What happened?"

Over the following twenty minutes or so Tony recapped the day's horrific events. Pepper's heart broke at just the mental images. They'd all known that there was more going on inside Clint's busy head than the archer let on but this…

Somehow she'd ended up to Tony's lap. She hugged him tightly and kissed his hair. "You need to stop beating yourself up about this, Tony. We both know how good of an actor Clint is when he wants to be, and how much he hates appearing vulnerable in front of _anyone_. You did everything you could."

Tony groaned and buried his face to her shoulder. Now definitely wasn't the right time for either one of them to remember that they'd agreed to take… a break. "Why wasn't it enough?"

Pepper's jawline tightened. Protective instincts surged inside her like a tsunami, for both pained men. "Because sometimes this world sucks."

Tony chuckled. It wasn't until that sound she heard the tears. "Never heard you say 'sucks' before."

"Yeah, you have, genius." She could feel his subtle shudders as he fought to pull himself together. It hurt enough to make her tighten her hold. "Now here's what we do. You just sit right there for bit. Then we pour that Whisky to a sink. Once that's all done we're going to sleep until the morning, because right now we're both too tired to think about anything rationally."

The only traces of Tony still being awake were those continuous tremors and barely audible noises. Until the man mumbled against her shirt. "Thanks. You don't have to…"

"Yeah, well, tough, because I want to."

Almost two full minutes of nearly absolute silence ticked by. It was Tony who broke it, never much for quiet. "I just wish that this whole crap was over and everyone would be okay."

Well, if _that_ didn't shatter her heart… "You're not superheroes, you're human beings doing and recovering from things no one should have to face." It was one huge reason to them taking a break. She couldn't stand seeing what being an Avenger did to him and he couldn't stand the thought of letting it go. She would've thought that it was another addiction added to his list but by now she knew better. Things with Tony Stark were hardly ever quite so simple. "But I've seen what you're all able to overcome, and you'll get through this, too. Just not tonight."

* * *

Laura didn't know how long she first sat, then lay there with Clint in her arms. Or perhaps it was more of a shell of her husband, because although he was warm and breathing it didn't really feel like he was _there_. She stoked his hair and hummed, tried every trick to ensure that he was aware of her presence.

Seeing him like that hurt physically. She wanted to scream, wanted to tear something or someone to pieces. Yet all she could do was be there and try to hang on to whatever was still left of him.

It'd been a long day and a massive emotional turmoil. She was about to fall into a restless slumber when he finally shifted. She tightened her hold without even noticing it. "Hey", she whispered, knowing all too well how sensitive to loud noises he was right now. "How do you feel?"

It took almost a minute before he managed to produce speech. His voice was rough and barely audible. "Tired."

Laura sighed and blinked rapidly when a stinging sensation took over her eyes. "Yeah, I'll bet." She kissed his hair. "So sleep. I won't be going anywhere. None of us will be going anywhere."

Clint was still horribly tense. And his grip on her was almost painful. "I'm sorry", he murmured with what sounded like the last of his strength. "… weren't supposed … wasn't supposed to see me like that."

Laura gritted her teeth so hard that it hurt. "And you're not supposed to be seeing whatever it is going on inside your head. But you are, and I did, and now we're going to deal with it. Together." She rubbed her nose against his cold and clammy forehead. "First, though, you need to start being honest with me. Us all. No more putting on a show. We're not some… delicate flowers who have to be coddled." She closed her eyes and inhaled his familiar, soothing scent. Tried to calm her still racing heart. "We… We lost you, and by some miracle we got you back. So _come back_. Stop hiding from us." This time she kissed his forehead. "Wherever that busy head of yours is right now… Come back to me. Let me help you." She could only hope that she'd be able to. That he hadn't slipped too far away without any of them even noticing.

Aside the never-ending trembling Clint was entirely still. And so quiet that it was terrifying. Until there was a whisper. "Laura? Is this real? Not just… Not just another dream?"

She frowned. That was new. "Yeah." She squeezed him gently to enforce her promise. "Of course this is real. Why would you ask that?"

"Because I wasn't supposed to make it out of there alive."

* * *

After making a phone call to Dr. Harris and ensuring that Clint was in safe hands Steve decided that he really, really needed a break. So he headed towards the apartment he hadn't really been in… for who knows how long. His solemn plan was to beat up a punching bag until he'd be exhausted enough to sleep dreamlessly. That plan was doomed from the start.

Because when he entered his apartment Nick Fury was sitting on his couch, a grim expression on his thoughtful face.

He opened his mouth but Fury was faster. "I'm aware that you don't want me anywhere near your home. Or your team. But…"

"They're not 'my team' anymore." Steve folded his arms, doing his best to keep his conflicted emotions and anger under control. "Isn't that why you came here?"

"Yes. I received your announcement that the Avengers won't be reassembled." The one-eyed man cast a hard look at him. It was almost enough to disguise how exhausted and strained the director seemed. "Do you really think that it's what Clint would want?"

"And do you think he'd want to be forced back to fieldwork? You haven't seen him. You don't know what _it_ did to him." _To all of us._ Steve gritted his teeth, fighting even harder to keep himself together. But the rage was just too much. "You chose to sacrifice his life, and you won't even tell us why. I'm not letting you do the same thing the any of them, ever again."

For a moment, just one, naked despair and something far deeper were visible in Fury's remaining eye. But all evidence disappeared quickly. "Barton knew what he was signing up for from the day he was recruited. He accepted the realities, made peace with them. You accepted that same 'for the greater good' deal when you enlisted." The man took a deep breath, still watching him thoughtfully. "I haven't approved the burial of the Avengers Initiative. But I can't operate as your leader anymore because I no longer have your team's trust. As from today Maria Hill will take my place. She knows the whole team at least as well as I do and is fully capable."

That… was honestly a surprise. Steve nodded slowly. Was he expected to say something?

Fury didn't seem to think so. The man's eye hardened, still fixed on him. "I'm aware that you don't trust me and I accept that. But there's something important you need to ask yourself. Do you trust yourself as their leader?"

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized that what was about to come out would've been a lie. Yes, Fury made the decision, the unthinkable sacrifice. But he wasn't able to bring his friend's body back home. (He never got the chance to find Bucky, either.) And now, when Clint needed them – him – more than ever before, he had absolutely no idea how to help. What kind of a leader and friend was so pathetically lost?

Steve looked down. And shook his head once, twice, a heavy weight sitting on his heart and shoulders. "No, I don't."

* * *

When Dr. Sarah Harris entered the Tower the following morning she wasn't exactly surprised to find a horribly worried, annoyed and frustrated Laura. "He'd left the bed when I woke up this morning", the woman announced before she could ask. "According to the surveillance system he's on one of the balconies."

With most of her patients Sarah would've been alarmed. Knowing Clint's fondness of heights she decided to check the situation before drawing any conclusions. She made her way to the given location and decided that the archer deserved a throughout scolding for making her do this when the man was feeling better.

Clint was sitting on the balcony's railing with his eyes closed. For a few seconds she wondered if he'd fallen asleep, because he looked beyond exhausted, but then he shivered barely visibly upon hearing her. He didn't open his eyes or speak, though.

Sarah sighed heavily. She could see immediately that despite all the progress they'd already done there was a huge workload ahead of them. "So. Here's the thing. That tough guy act and pretending that you've been pulling off in front of your friends? It stops, right now, to this day. Because you've got more than enough on your plate without having to tire yourself out with that. How does that sound?"

Clint was still and silent for so long that she imagined he was shutting her out. Until… "I'm done with pretending."

That might've sounded promising if she hadn't read between the lines. Her eyes narrowed slightly while she processed. "Sounds like it's not the only thing you're done with." In full honesty it sounded and looked like he was done with _everything_. And it chilled her.

Clint didn't give an answer. After a few long minutes of silence his eyes opened and instantly squinted to slits against the harsh sunlight. "I wasn't supposed to make it out of there. I…" He cleared his throat, then went on in a distant, nearly detached tone. Was he talking to her or himself? "I spent months telling myself that I'd die there. So what am I supposed to do now?"

He sounded heart wrenchingly lost and… hollow. It was silly how much Sarah wanted to give him a hug. But not only would it have been unprofessional, it also would've done him no good. So she settled for a shrug, even if he didn't see it. "That's what we're about to find out. But first you need to start talking to me. Do you think you can do that?"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh mine, that was quite the setback. (sighs) BUT, let's hope that this is where the recovery continues…!

Sooooo… Thoughts? Comments? It'd be FANTASTIC to hear from you guys!

Awkay, I've really gotta get going. Hopefully I'll see you all next time with 'Acceptance'!

Take care!


	5. Acceptance

A/N: Pheeeeeeeeeew, it's late! But I couldn't go to bed without updating, so here we are. (chuckles)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and love! I can't believe how many of you joined this ride. You guys are precious! (HUGS)

Awkay, because it's late and I've kept you waiting, let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Acceptance

* * *

/ _Days. Weeks. Months. Years? Time didn't exist where Clint was, for there was no concept of tim_ _e in hell. And even if there was, keeping track would've only hurt more._

 _At least he'd finally stopped dreaming of his family and friends, and if he'd been more coherent it would've saddened him._

 _By some miracle he was still alive. Emilia joked that it looked like his body had forgotten how to die. It was far more likely that she was simply waiting for the right time to bring things to an end._

 _There were probably days long intervals when he was abandoned entirely. No food, no water, no healthcare. One of those came to a brutal halt when the door screeched open painfully loudly. With whatever little there was left of his strength he lifted his head, enough to see a pair of high heeled shoes._

 _"I'm going to give you a special goodbye gift, Little Bird", Emilia announced with the air of someone talking about the weather. She took a couple of slow steps closer. "You're going to get out of here a one more time. And do you know what's the best part for you? If you do everything as I say… If you're a good little pet… I'm going to let you walk away alive." He could feel her eyes on him before she went on. "Well, as much as you can be described as being alive." She lifted his chin with a gentle hand and smiled at him before kissing his lips briefly. "I'm your only hope, Clint. This time I'm your director. And if you're obedient… you'll see how much more merciful I am than Nicholas Fury." She stroked his cheek with one finger. "Be a good boy and soon you'll be home with your family. Isn't that more than Nicholas ever allowed you?"_

 _To get to see his family… His kids… Laura… His friends… It was intoxicating, even if it was fool's hope. Clint clung to it desperately to salvage what little was left of his sanity. Then let go. Because he was still sane enough to realize that this was his green mile. He was determined to make it count._

 _The whole time he heard a bizarre, ticking noise inside his head. While he was escorted out of his cell. While he stole a gun from one of his… companions. While he pulled on a mask that hid his head. While he led the others into a S.H.I.E.L.D facility, his knowledge of the building helping them to the correct spot quickly. While he began to work on computer files concerning Project Eve. While he unleashed a vicious virus on them instead of downloading copies of them._

 _The ticking noise ended when he heard Tony's voice, and he knew that it was over._ /

* * *

It was late afternoon when Dr. Sarah Harris entered the Tower's main common space to find everyone from the Avengers but Clint present. She'd already talked to Laura, who was currently giving the kids something to eat and doing her hardest to pretend that something hadn't just rattled her to the core of her being. Sarah could barely even imagine how scared, worried and overwhelmed Laura had to feel. Facing Clint in the man's current mental frame had gotten under even the therapist's skin more than it should've.

Sarah sighed heavily and took a deep breath, wondering where to start. "So… I'm telling you all this with Clint's permission, because it's important that you know what's going on to be active parts of his recovery." She went on after a couple of impatient glares and Steve's tense but polite nod. "If I'm brutally honest, usually I'd recommend someone in his condition a stay at a psychiatric facility. But I doubt it'd be beneficial in his case. Right now he needs to be in a place where he feels safe." From the corner of her eye he saw a flash of happiness and pride on Tony's face. Fighting back a smile she went on. "And he needs to be with people he can trust. Because he does trust you all, that's never changed. He also knows how much you want to help him. The problem is that he also knows what you went through during the six months you imagined he was gone." There was a collective shudder in the room. She went on when she felt that the others were ready to continue listening. "He doesn't want to make you go through any more of that. And I think everyone in this room knows how bad he is at accepting help."

Everyone nodded sullenly. Exhausted to the bone but not yet defeated. "How are we supposed to get him to cooperate?" Natasha demanded, her tone sharpened by frustration.

Sarah gritted her teeth, wondering how much she could reveal without betraying her patient's trust. "Right now he's too weary to keep pretending." After eight full hours she'd only dared to leave the archer's side when the man was out cold from heavy medication. "But he'll keep recovering, and he'll try again. This time we'll all be ready for it." Because she wasn't too proud to admit that the archer had even her fooled. Her eyes narrowed as they scanned through the group. "And if you want to help, you need to help yourselves first. Which means no more skipping sessions with me."

* * *

Clint slept for forty-nine hours. The dreams he had… weren't exactly pleasant. And when he woke up he had the worst headache he'd ever experienced. Which was saying something, considering the fact that he'd faced two cases of a fractured skull and more concussions than he could count.

His eyes opened, and aside the raging headache he felt utterly drained.

The last thing he remembered properly was heading to a shower. After that… It was mainly just flashes, dreams or real he wasn't entirely sure. How long…?

With the sheer power of stubbornness he began to struggle to a sitting position. And, to his own shock, actually succeeded. The whole world spun and his headache definitely didn't improve from the effort but he did it. Eventually.

The room's door opened, startling him. He tensed up to an extend that did his body no favors until Natasha's comfortingly familiar voice spoke. "How about that. Look who's finally awake." Clearly suspecting that he had a headache she was merciful enough to keep her voice down.

Clint shook his head and discovered in a flash that it was a very bad idea. It took a full minute and his friend calling his name twice before he was able to do at least somewhat coherent thinking. His mind zeroed on… "Laura?" he rasped, and winced at the sound of his voice. "The kids?"

"I sent Laura to get a nap a couple of hours ago. She's gotten as stubborn as you." Only a careful ear caught the hint of fondness. "Stark's babysitting the kids. Or the kids are babysitting him. It's hard to tell."

Clint felt a brush of relief. Until a sudden thought made his whole body grow cold. "The kids… They didn't see me… like this, right?" They were already so traumatized. The last thing they needed…

"Nope. Although it's been pretty hard to keep them away. As far as they know you've just been feeling a little sick." She took a seat beside him. "It's dinner time. Do you feel up to joining the others?"

Clint shook his head, and once again regretted it instantly when he had to fight to keep himself from throwing up. He didn't feel like moving at all. The idea of leaving the room was even less appealing. Facing the others and eating… It would've been too much.

Natasha nodded, unsurprised. "I figured as much. I'll go and get you some of that carrot-soup Wanda made." Seeing his lips part for an objection she narrowed her eyes warningly. "You eat, I eat. That's the deal. I'm not letting my best friend starve to death so we'll just have to find foods your stomach agrees with." It sounded incredibly simple and easy when she said it.

Clint swallowed and looked away. His fingers squirmed restlessly. "Tasha, I can't… I'm not…" He wasn't sure he could do what she expected of him. He'd never be quite the same person he once was. And somehow he'd have to accept that it was okay.

"I know." Natasha seemed to understand. And although he knew how much she hated change, deep down, it looked like she was at peace with the realization. "But we'll be okay, all of us. Eventually."

Clint wished that he'd been able to smile as he grasped on to those words with all there was in him.

He didn't realize it until almost a year later, during a therapy session. But as they sat there eating soup in a companionable silence he felt at peace for the first time since the nightmare began. He didn't know that so did Natasha.

* * *

After the soup Clint slept some more. He had a nasty feeling that he had Dr. Harris' meds to thank for it. When he began to wake up again, groggy and confused but at least not exhausted, he had no idea what he'd been dreaming about. It was a bliss.

He sighed and rubbed his face drowsily with one hand. Then froze. He wasn't alone. He almost reacted violently until he realized that he recognized this presence.

"Daddy?" a familiar, sleepy voice murmured. Something warm and soft shifted beside him. "Are you awake?"

He shifted stiffly, his body achy from lack of activity. "Yeah." His eyes opened halfway to discover Lila snuggled against him. Sleepy and a little weary but whole and well. Feeling a massive surge of relief and affection, he kissed the top of her head. "Sorry that I've been sleeping too much."

Lila smiled. A pure, honest gesture, free of worry. For the first time in ages she looked like someone of her age. "It's okay. You look happier now."

Clint felt his eyes soften. "I feel happier, too." He was unaware of the tiny smile on his face.

When Laura entered the room half an hour later to check up on the two she found them sleeping soundly. The father holding the daughter as much as it was the other way round. Although she knew that the recovery was still very incomplete she finally found it easy to breathe.

* * *

A couple of days later Wanda was tossing and turning in her bed while nightmares grabbed a nasty, greedy hold of her. So many faces blurred together. Her parents, Pietro, Clint… She cried and whimpered, desperately calling out to them all. Begging them to come back to her.

" _Wanda?_ "

She gasped, trying to reach out towards that voice. It sounded safe. It sounded like a home.

" _Wanda?_ " So close, now… "Are you…?"

Before that sentence was completed she lunged to a sitting position with a hungry breath, and wrapped her arms around the man sitting on the edge of her bed. Clint shivered and hesitated, but in the end he returned the hold with at least the same intensity. And there in her arms he felt warm, real. Alive.

Painstakingly slowly Wanda's breaths began to even out while she caught a grip over herself. "Sorry", she murmured, pressing her face against his shoulder. It took fairly long before she dared to try talking again. "How did you know?"

"You were, ah… projecting, a little." He rubbed comforting circles on her back. "You called out to me."

Embarrassment washed through her. Along with guilt. "Sorry. I didn't mean to." Didn't he have enough nightmares of his own already? He didn't need hers to worry about as well.

Clint's hold on her tightened before he pushed her further tenderly, so that they were able to look at each other. There was a stern expression on his face, and right then he looked just like the man who was once robbed from them. "Wanda, it's not a bad thing to need someone on occasion. And don't ever feel bad about calling out to me, because I'll be there whenever you need me. Understood?"

Wanda nodded. And finally, for the first time since she lost her parents, she felt like she had the permission to be every bit as young as she was. Even as she finally broke down, bringing down a damn she built far too long ago, a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders.

About an hour later they'd both calmed down a little. Only then did Clint speak. "Laura and Vision are arranging an early morning ice-cream party for the kids. How about you join us? Because you look like you need some ice-cream."

It was the second time Clint invited her to join a family. And as a familiar warmth filled Wanda her answer was the same. _Okay._ "They've got mint, right?"

After a while Clint goofed around with his kids and Vision observed with something that looked like curiosity. Which was when Laura, with a smile on her face, whispered a secret to Wanda. It was the first time Clint left the room where he'd been recovering since Dr. Harris led him there after the shower incident.

* * *

A few days later Tony didn't know what woke him up in the middle of the night, because for once he'd been sleeping soundly. A frown on his face, he made sure that Pepper was asleep on the bed they once again shared and left the room soundlessly. Allowing some sort of a sixth sense lead him, he made his through the Tower. Until he reached the building's main common space and saw someone on the couch. In the light radiating from the TV he was able to see a ruffled bush of blond hair.

Tony frowned, slightly alarmed. "What are you doing up at this hour, watching…?" His frown deepened as he looked towards the TV-screen. "Is that 'Adventure Time'?"

"Maybe."

Tony would've laughed, but something about the whole situation felt… off. Well, he hadn't been asked to leave, so the billionaire marched to the couch and made himself comfortable. "A rough night?" he inquired, keeping his tone as casual as possible.

There was a loud gulp. Followed by very, very quiet three seconds. "Something like that."

"Wanna talk about it?" There was no response, and Tony's stomach twisted from… well, after _everything_ he was forced to admit worry. "Clint?" He turned his head and discovered something struck him truly, genuinely speechless.

Clint was trembling miserably, and there were tears the archer didn't even try to blink away in the man's eyes. Tony had never, ever seen his friend appear so vulnerable willingly. And although it _hurt_ to watch, he also felt a brush of pride in front of such immense trust.

It'd take some time to get used to this new Clint who emerged from the ordeal. They'd clash horribly, both of them still reeling from… _it_. But they'd make it through. They had all the time in the world.

"If you tell anyone about this…"

"I know, Feathers, I'll find an arrow from my ass."

"Good, I'm glad we got that sorted."

So maybe they were both out of their minds, but they began to giggle hysterically.

* * *

A week later Maria Hill stopped by at the Tower, and Clint was unable to convince himself that it wasn't to check up on him. In return he checked up on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Not only did he hear, for the first time, that Fury was no longer the Avengers' director. He also learned that as far as Steve was concerned, the team no longer existed.

Finally he understood why Steve had been avoiding him. And why everyone avoided the issue when he asked why they didn't seem to be taking missions anymore. The lightning sharp flash of anger was exactly what he needed.

He stormed out of the Tower. And soon enough he stood in the middle of the Captain's favorite jogging path, blocking the man's route. If Clint hadn't been too pissed off to appreciate the humor, he would've found Steve's expression worth a snapshot. "Barton, what are you…?"

His eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth so hard that it made a sound. "Oh, no, you're not going to 'Barton' me." He folded his arms, mainly to keep himself from punching his friend. "So you're done with the team, huh? No more Captain America?"

This time it was Steve gritting his teeth. The expression on the man's face reminded him of how Thor looked when the Asgardian didn't succeed in picking up his hammer. "I failed you. Six months, and I couldn't bring you home. How am I supposed to trust myself as a leader?"

"Five." Clint's voice was sharp and hard, like thunder. It seemed to catch his friend's attention, which ushered him on. "That's how many times you've saved my life, Steve. And what about all those lives the Avengers have saved? Do they mean nothing to you?" More and more fire filled him with each word. A little more and he'd be unable to keep a fist from swinging. "You saw what happened to New York and Sokovia! You know how it would've ended without the team! And you know as well as I do that something like that is going to happen again! When it does I refuse to be the reason the Avengers aren't protecting the world anymore! I refuse to be the thing that tears the team apart! You don't get to put me into that position!"

Steve sighed heavily. His eyes appeared far older than anyone's who'd been born in the 40s. "And what if I'm done with always being the soldier?"

Clint shook his head firmly. "You're not. Trust me, I can see it, because I thought I was, too. We may stumble but we don't stay down. We don't give up when the war isn't over."

Steve stared at him. And then some of the following amusement reached the man's exhausted eyes. "Is that an order?"

Clint smirked. "Yeah, Captain. It is."

As they made their way slowly back to the Tower neither noticed two things. It'd been pouring rain the whole time. And it was the first time since coming back from the dead Clint left the building on his own.

* * *

The Barton family staying at the Tower forever wasn't an option, of course. Eventually they made their way back home. Back to the Farm that once again felt like a home with their whole family intact. And there the healing continued, slowly and at times painfully but steadily.

Two months after their return Laura peered through the window when she heard laughter from the front yard. She couldn't help but chuckle upon discovering that Clint and Cooper, who was shining with one of those far too rare big smiles of his, were putting together a doghouse. Apparently they'd be getting a dog, then.

Going back to preparing dinner, Laura allowed her mind to drift into the ordeal her family had gone through. Lila and especially Cooper still had nightmares far too often. So did Laura, hard as she struggled to not let them show. Sometimes she was so scared of losing her husband again that she could barely breathe. A couple of times she'd had a panic attack upon waking up to find Clint gone from their bed. Some of those traumas would always stay with them. Which was something Clint would never, ever forgive himself. Out of guilt and devotion that man pushed himself, sometimes so hard that it terrified Laura. There were horrible days, those when the bad days of family members clashed. Days when the emotional wounds and scars were too much. But more and more often there were also days like this. The good kind. Days when she got to have the husband she thought she lost.

Hearing a familiar melody of 'As Time Goes By' from the radio, Laura woke up from her thoughts. She shivered when the volume picked up and a pair of tender arms wrapped around her, spinning her around. She chuckled. "Barton, what are you doing?"

Clint responded by kissing her in such a manner that left her completely, utterly breathless. Once they broke apart his eyes shone exactly like when they first met. "They're playing our song."

No further explanation was needed. Holding on to each other with all the adoration they felt for one another they danced slowly, eyes closed. In those stolen minutes pain, grief and suffering didn't exist. It was just the two of them dancing to their song.

After the song ended and they got lost into a second kiss they were both still alive. Still together, safe and sound in each other's arms. And it was all they needed to make it through all the bad days that'd come.

* * *

Only eight people in the whole world knew about the place Nick Fury entered on a bitterly cold Christmas morning. With a stony expression on his face he passed by six security measures, until he made it to a tiny room with twenty monitors displaying footage of thrice as many security cameras. He nodded sharply at the young guard keeping watch, then locked all his attention to one of the monitors.

It showed footage from a tiny, round shaped room that had no windows or a door. It was the size of a well, made entirely out of stone with only a hole in the ceiling through which food was delivered. Those delivering the food had no idea who was inside. Only that it was someone too dangerous to ever see the light of day. The man currently keeping Fury company had no idea, either. Only the one-eyed man himself knew the mysterious prisoner's true identity.

The poison Natasha gave Emilia was the same the criminal used to convince everyone that Clint was dead. It didn't kill the archer. And it didn't end Emilia's life, either.

In that cell she woke up, most likely imagining that she was dead, and in that cell she'd eventually really die. She was far too dangerous to be allowed outside. Especially to their daughter, Fury reminded himself the second his heart almost felt sympathy for the woman he once loved.

That woman died a long time ago, he knew. And only this monster remained. Because unlike Clint Emilia never made it out of the hell she went through.

At the moment the woman sat in the middle of the cell with her eyes closed. Keeping them open wouldn't have made any difference because there was no way of seeing. She was screaming, over and over again. There was no audio transmitted but Fury knew exactly what she was saying.

" _EVE!_ "

"Who's she calling out to?" the guard inquired with curiosity.

Fury's eyes darkened and narrowed. The pain was almost more than he could bear. "A ghost."

The guard wished him a merry Christmas as Fury turned and left, deciding that his weekly inspection was over. He offered no response. The metallic doors and security systems clanged and whirred loudly as he made his way out of the building.

Eve was safe, and while it did nothing to ease his aching heart it'd have to be enough.

* * *

End

* * *

A/N: How about that, a happy ending after all the pain and suffering! (BEAMS) And did you really think that I'd let Emilia off the hook that easily? (smirks evilly)

SOOOOOOO, people… How was that for a closure? Good? Horrible? Lukewarm? PLEASE, do let me know! I'm always a bit nervous about finishing stories so I'd LOVE to hear from you.

In any case, THANK YOU SO MUCH for sticking around through this insanely emotional ride! It's been a HUGE pleasure to type to you. (HUGS)

Who knows, maybe I'll see you again one day. In any case, take care – of yourselves and all the Clitn Bartons out there!

* * *

Anonymous: Emotional, wasn't it? (whimpers) Let's hope that they'll be okay!

Their DEFINITELY my favorite couple! (BEAMS) And words can't describe how much I love Clint.

Colossal thank yous for the review! Until next time.


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